* * * * * * * * * *
MEMENTO VIVERE
- Quintus -
Ne Cadant In Obscurum
"That way," Brideshaw gasped, trying to keep up with Rebecca and Phileas, whose pace quickened steadily, driven by an increasing tension. Rebecca could understand Phileas's frame of mind. He had been pacing and fidgeting during the time it took Brideshaw to reappear, hastily dressed in an old-fashioned and rather baggy brown suit. Now he was almost physically shutting everything out, his mind completely taken over by memories.
But her mind was not, and she was acutely aware that they were walking on Prussian soil, at a late hour. Still, it was unreasonable to think that there could be any trouble: it was too early after their arrival for that. The streets were scarcely populated, but none of the pedestrians looked even remotely threatening. The sound of hooves could be heard from adjacent streets, and wheels on the pavement: normal sounds of a normal city.
Not so normal, come to think about it. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of carriages going out tonight. Maybe she was too highly strung, but to her ears the number was certainly unusual. At least the noise went past them, towards the direction from where they'd come, and a few moments later it faded.
No, not faded: it stopped. No so far away, either. She touched Phileas's arm lightly, as a warning. And, thank goodness, he heeded it. He didn't really slow down, but his eyes stopped focusing inward and took notice of his surroundings. Instinctively, Rebecca took the rear, covering Brideshaw's back.
"Miss Fogg?"
"Keep walking, Brideshaw," she smiled at him, "it's just in case."
"I've lived here for six years now, Miss Fogg, and I assure you, I never had any trouble. I'm not worth it."
"The situation has changed slightly," Rebecca said, perfectly aware of how worthless Brideshaw's life would be if his connection to the British Service were discovered. Ahead of her, Phileas altered his step ever so subtly. Rebecca tensed. Pulling Brideshaw's arm, she went to her cousin's side.
"Two men on that alley over there," he said curtly, gripping the hilt of his sword stick. Rebecca glanced behind them.
"And two more behind us, keeping to the shadows. Damn."
"Want to wager on what's ahead of us?"
"Not really. Are you carrying a pistol, besides that pointy thing?" she asked, readying the outer layer of her dress to drop away with a single movement.
"My Derringer."
"That's =all=?"
"I was sure you will be armed for both of us," he replied dryly, and then he looked at the linguist. "Brideshaw, where is the morgue?"
"That way, Mister Fogg. It is a low stone building, impossible to miss," Brideshaw answered, clearly not liking at all the way things were going. Rebecca looked ahead. Was that a cloak, disappearing behind a corner?
"We seem to be surrounded," Phileas said in a hard voice.
"We'll see about that," she said, exchanging glances with her cousin. Although they had shared very few missions before Phileas's resignation, they had been together since they were children, and now they understood each other perfectly. Rebecca gripped Brideshaw's arm.
"When I tell you, run out of here as fast as you ever can. Go to the woods south of town, to a small clearing about a mile from the main road, and wait. There will be a dirigible there at dawn: you'll see the scale coming down. A man called Passepartout will be there. Give him this," Rebecca took out a small garnet ring and put it in Brideshaw's trembling hand, "and tell him to take you back to England immediately."
"But my house, my work..."
"Never mind them. If you stay here you are dead. Do not argue, we can't afford the time. Just run when I tell you, and don't look back."
"But you, and Mister Fogg..."
"We'll manage. Hush now." They were approaching one of the alleys. Behind them, footsteps clattered on the pavement. At least three, maybe more, Rebecca thought, not looking back. When Phileas started running towards the alley, she ran too, dragging Brideshaw behind her.
They had been right. Two cloaked figures loomed ahead of them, and no doubt more were coming from behind. Phileas's blade hissed as it slid from its wooden scabbard. Rebecca opened her dress as though it had been a robe, and in the same movement threw it towards the nearest figure. That gave her time to take out her revolver and fire once at the bulk ahead of her. Her free arm pushed Brideshaw past the staggering man and towards the other end of the alley.
"Run! NOW!" she yelled, and Brideshaw disappeared at a respectable gallop. Rebecca had half a second to wonder whether he'd make it alive to the =Aurora=, and then Brideshaw vanished utterly from her mind. Phileas had engaged the other man. With the sword, the fool. She aimed her weapon at one of the other three, no, four running figures. One of them came to her preternaturally fast, waving a naked saber. Rebecca dodged, but not completely: the flat of the blade caught her forearm with a loud slap and she dropped the revolver. Her left arm went immediately to her thigh, where she wore her long dagger. She parried her opponent's next blow, using the guard to trap briefly the saber's blade and throw the other man off-balance. He took a step forward to counteract this (=Damn him, he's fast=), and by the dim light of the alley he saw her face clearly for the first time. His eyes widened in surprise and... glee? Rebecca took opportunity of his brief hesitation and used it to gain distance and throw him one of her knives. He dodged it easily and his smile, already apparent, widened.
"Oh this is such an unexpected pleasure," she heard him say, eyeing her from head to toe. Rebecca snarled and jumped: her boot caught him on the chest and he fell down with a loud roar of anger.
The brief exchange took maybe four seconds, and already more men were closing in. Rebecca made a quick count: three men were on the ground, and none of them was Phileas. Where was he? She heard his familiar grunt as he disarmed yet another man.
"Too many," she gasped, fighting the nearest man, and heard his breath come out in a "Yes". Part of her mind looked for escape routes; they couldn't run the way Brideshaw had gone. It was either push through, past the men, or die there.
"Up," she heard Phileas say, and she immediately understood: the roofs.
"I need a couple of seconds," she said. A shot rang in the alley, very loud against the muffled sounds of the fight. Their attackers hesitated briefly.
"You have one," Phileas said, firing the second shot in his Derringer, but Rebecca was already moving, getting rid of her opponent with a well-aimed punch to the throat. Her fingers found her lighter, and even before the echo from the second shot had died, a small smoking object bounced on the cobbles.
"Cover your eyes," she said as they flattened themselves against the grimy brick wall. A split second later the explosion lit up the whole alley. It wasn't really destructive, a mere flash bomb, but the sudden glare and the noise threw the attackers back. Phileas took the opportunity and climbed the wall as nimbly as a cat, followed closely by Rebecca.
They were in luck: the roofs were old but sturdy. Rebecca followed the leaping form of her cousin when she suddenly realized that they were running in the wrong direction, away from the =Aurora=. Then she realized why.
He was running towards the morgue. The damn fool.
She clenched her teeth and tried to reach him. She saw him slow down, calculating the distance to leap across an alley. Then he tripped at the very edge, and fell.
"Phileas!"
She flung herself down and found him hanging precariously from the rain gutter. She offered her arm and he took it, instinctively. Rebecca knew immediately that it was the wrong arm: the blow from the saber blade had bruised it badly, and she groaned as Phileas's weight pulled on it. She was strong, but Phileas was quite tall, and her angle was wrong, and her support was flimsy. Her legs skidded a few inches over the slanted roof
"Hold on," she grunted, looking for a way to shift her weight without letting him go. Noises behind them told her that at least some of her pursuers had made it up the roofs too. Damn. She looked down at Phileas and, in the strange elongated time of terror, saw his face. He looked down, once. Then up, at her face, contorted with effort. She saw his mouth open in a quiet, silent "Ah" of realization. He smiled the strangest smile.
"Don't you dare, Phileas," she growled, tightening her grip, even as she felt herself slide down. Either she'd let go, or they'd both fall in a matter of seconds.
She'd rather lose her arm than let go. And she knew that Phileas knew it.
"Don't you dare, Phileas!" she said through clenched teeth.
"Never," she heard him say, and felt his hand slip from hers.
* * * * * * * * * *
End of Chapter Five
MEMENTO VIVERE
- Quintus -
Ne Cadant In Obscurum
"That way," Brideshaw gasped, trying to keep up with Rebecca and Phileas, whose pace quickened steadily, driven by an increasing tension. Rebecca could understand Phileas's frame of mind. He had been pacing and fidgeting during the time it took Brideshaw to reappear, hastily dressed in an old-fashioned and rather baggy brown suit. Now he was almost physically shutting everything out, his mind completely taken over by memories.
But her mind was not, and she was acutely aware that they were walking on Prussian soil, at a late hour. Still, it was unreasonable to think that there could be any trouble: it was too early after their arrival for that. The streets were scarcely populated, but none of the pedestrians looked even remotely threatening. The sound of hooves could be heard from adjacent streets, and wheels on the pavement: normal sounds of a normal city.
Not so normal, come to think about it. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of carriages going out tonight. Maybe she was too highly strung, but to her ears the number was certainly unusual. At least the noise went past them, towards the direction from where they'd come, and a few moments later it faded.
No, not faded: it stopped. No so far away, either. She touched Phileas's arm lightly, as a warning. And, thank goodness, he heeded it. He didn't really slow down, but his eyes stopped focusing inward and took notice of his surroundings. Instinctively, Rebecca took the rear, covering Brideshaw's back.
"Miss Fogg?"
"Keep walking, Brideshaw," she smiled at him, "it's just in case."
"I've lived here for six years now, Miss Fogg, and I assure you, I never had any trouble. I'm not worth it."
"The situation has changed slightly," Rebecca said, perfectly aware of how worthless Brideshaw's life would be if his connection to the British Service were discovered. Ahead of her, Phileas altered his step ever so subtly. Rebecca tensed. Pulling Brideshaw's arm, she went to her cousin's side.
"Two men on that alley over there," he said curtly, gripping the hilt of his sword stick. Rebecca glanced behind them.
"And two more behind us, keeping to the shadows. Damn."
"Want to wager on what's ahead of us?"
"Not really. Are you carrying a pistol, besides that pointy thing?" she asked, readying the outer layer of her dress to drop away with a single movement.
"My Derringer."
"That's =all=?"
"I was sure you will be armed for both of us," he replied dryly, and then he looked at the linguist. "Brideshaw, where is the morgue?"
"That way, Mister Fogg. It is a low stone building, impossible to miss," Brideshaw answered, clearly not liking at all the way things were going. Rebecca looked ahead. Was that a cloak, disappearing behind a corner?
"We seem to be surrounded," Phileas said in a hard voice.
"We'll see about that," she said, exchanging glances with her cousin. Although they had shared very few missions before Phileas's resignation, they had been together since they were children, and now they understood each other perfectly. Rebecca gripped Brideshaw's arm.
"When I tell you, run out of here as fast as you ever can. Go to the woods south of town, to a small clearing about a mile from the main road, and wait. There will be a dirigible there at dawn: you'll see the scale coming down. A man called Passepartout will be there. Give him this," Rebecca took out a small garnet ring and put it in Brideshaw's trembling hand, "and tell him to take you back to England immediately."
"But my house, my work..."
"Never mind them. If you stay here you are dead. Do not argue, we can't afford the time. Just run when I tell you, and don't look back."
"But you, and Mister Fogg..."
"We'll manage. Hush now." They were approaching one of the alleys. Behind them, footsteps clattered on the pavement. At least three, maybe more, Rebecca thought, not looking back. When Phileas started running towards the alley, she ran too, dragging Brideshaw behind her.
They had been right. Two cloaked figures loomed ahead of them, and no doubt more were coming from behind. Phileas's blade hissed as it slid from its wooden scabbard. Rebecca opened her dress as though it had been a robe, and in the same movement threw it towards the nearest figure. That gave her time to take out her revolver and fire once at the bulk ahead of her. Her free arm pushed Brideshaw past the staggering man and towards the other end of the alley.
"Run! NOW!" she yelled, and Brideshaw disappeared at a respectable gallop. Rebecca had half a second to wonder whether he'd make it alive to the =Aurora=, and then Brideshaw vanished utterly from her mind. Phileas had engaged the other man. With the sword, the fool. She aimed her weapon at one of the other three, no, four running figures. One of them came to her preternaturally fast, waving a naked saber. Rebecca dodged, but not completely: the flat of the blade caught her forearm with a loud slap and she dropped the revolver. Her left arm went immediately to her thigh, where she wore her long dagger. She parried her opponent's next blow, using the guard to trap briefly the saber's blade and throw the other man off-balance. He took a step forward to counteract this (=Damn him, he's fast=), and by the dim light of the alley he saw her face clearly for the first time. His eyes widened in surprise and... glee? Rebecca took opportunity of his brief hesitation and used it to gain distance and throw him one of her knives. He dodged it easily and his smile, already apparent, widened.
"Oh this is such an unexpected pleasure," she heard him say, eyeing her from head to toe. Rebecca snarled and jumped: her boot caught him on the chest and he fell down with a loud roar of anger.
The brief exchange took maybe four seconds, and already more men were closing in. Rebecca made a quick count: three men were on the ground, and none of them was Phileas. Where was he? She heard his familiar grunt as he disarmed yet another man.
"Too many," she gasped, fighting the nearest man, and heard his breath come out in a "Yes". Part of her mind looked for escape routes; they couldn't run the way Brideshaw had gone. It was either push through, past the men, or die there.
"Up," she heard Phileas say, and she immediately understood: the roofs.
"I need a couple of seconds," she said. A shot rang in the alley, very loud against the muffled sounds of the fight. Their attackers hesitated briefly.
"You have one," Phileas said, firing the second shot in his Derringer, but Rebecca was already moving, getting rid of her opponent with a well-aimed punch to the throat. Her fingers found her lighter, and even before the echo from the second shot had died, a small smoking object bounced on the cobbles.
"Cover your eyes," she said as they flattened themselves against the grimy brick wall. A split second later the explosion lit up the whole alley. It wasn't really destructive, a mere flash bomb, but the sudden glare and the noise threw the attackers back. Phileas took the opportunity and climbed the wall as nimbly as a cat, followed closely by Rebecca.
They were in luck: the roofs were old but sturdy. Rebecca followed the leaping form of her cousin when she suddenly realized that they were running in the wrong direction, away from the =Aurora=. Then she realized why.
He was running towards the morgue. The damn fool.
She clenched her teeth and tried to reach him. She saw him slow down, calculating the distance to leap across an alley. Then he tripped at the very edge, and fell.
"Phileas!"
She flung herself down and found him hanging precariously from the rain gutter. She offered her arm and he took it, instinctively. Rebecca knew immediately that it was the wrong arm: the blow from the saber blade had bruised it badly, and she groaned as Phileas's weight pulled on it. She was strong, but Phileas was quite tall, and her angle was wrong, and her support was flimsy. Her legs skidded a few inches over the slanted roof
"Hold on," she grunted, looking for a way to shift her weight without letting him go. Noises behind them told her that at least some of her pursuers had made it up the roofs too. Damn. She looked down at Phileas and, in the strange elongated time of terror, saw his face. He looked down, once. Then up, at her face, contorted with effort. She saw his mouth open in a quiet, silent "Ah" of realization. He smiled the strangest smile.
"Don't you dare, Phileas," she growled, tightening her grip, even as she felt herself slide down. Either she'd let go, or they'd both fall in a matter of seconds.
She'd rather lose her arm than let go. And she knew that Phileas knew it.
"Don't you dare, Phileas!" she said through clenched teeth.
"Never," she heard him say, and felt his hand slip from hers.
* * * * * * * * * *
End of Chapter Five
